


Delicately Balancing

by Ladycat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:32:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though the choice was willful, and Teyla did not regret a second of it, there were times when the feeling of being cut off was overwhelming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delicately Balancing

_“You’ll get to know us,” Major Sheppard told her, gesturing her into the quarters that were to be hers. “We’re not a complicated people, really. You’ll see.”_

_Behind him, Doctor McKay peered inside, eyes cataloging the richness of her new accommodations with an avarice Teyla had already determined to be barely skin deep, if truly meant at all, and muttered a comment full of references she could not understand. Something about princes and paupers?_

_“See?” Major Sheppard grinned. “Just watch McKay, he’s practically an open book.”_

_She smiled back at him, opening her mouth to say that she had already discovered the Doctor’s inability to hide anything at all, but McKay made a noise that sounded like a dying thing. “I’ll have you know,” he snapped, “that I’ve been working on classified projects for_ years _, Major. Whatever performance problems are detailed on the records you inherited from Sumner, I was never once considered to be a security risk. I can keep a secret if I need to, which is more than you fly-boy jocks are known for.”_

_“Did I ever say I was a fly-boy?” Waving a farewell to Teyla, grin impishly telling her to enjoy, Major Sheppard followed Doctor McKay back into the hall. “And you know your record because you hacked into those files, Rodney—not exactly evidence of you being able to keep your mouth shut.”_

_“It’s_ my _record, Major, I shouldn’t need to hack into it. And of course you’re a fly-boy. My god, the hair alone would convince me without any proof of your reckless, obviously steroid-influenced behavior—”_

_“The hair is going to be a thing with you, isn’t it?”_

_“It_ sticks straight up _, Major. Have you never heard of a comb?”_

* * *

The sunsets on this world were not as brilliantly hued as those on Athos, but her habit of meditation did not require streaks of colors so layered and blended that it was impossible to name a single one. All she needed was calm and emptiness, the dying light and steady rush of the waves providing her with enough focus. The southern pier, on the third balcony, was her preferred location as it wasn’t far from the living quarters but still rarely used. Each day—barring emergency—she came to this balcony to empty mind and body of tension. It was solitary. Peaceful. Her chance to be merely Teyla for a little, until later when Ronon would arrive and they would speak as had become their tradition.

A wisp of sound where only the wind should be drew her to her feet. While the balcony directly below hers was used, it was rare—although geographically close, the twisted paths of Atlantis made it even harder to get to, leaving it for people determined to be alone. Those below would value their privacy. They would certainly not appreciate Teyla taking a careful step forward, hand on the sloping curve of the railing as she leaned forward to see who it was.

She pulled back abruptly. 

She had not known, not even _guessed_ —and that thought pulled her over again. Two men, both familiar just from the tops of their heads, embraced with a frantic, desperate passion that was unmistakable.

Something hollow spread through her stomach, clogging her throat. It was not as if she had had designs, of course. She had known how foolish such wants would be within moments of meeting both of them. But seeing it now— _feeling_ it, as the figures below murmured words stolen by the wind—only brought home how distanced she was.

Though the choice was willful, and Teyla did not regret a second of it, there were times when the feeling of being cut off was overwhelming. These people were so alien to all she had known growing up, all the others she had met throughout a lifetime of trading. Without fear of the Wraith, these Earth humans had grown swaggering into their skins, looking around them with an open curiosity that nothing seemed to temper, full of expectations Teyla still did not fully understand despite a year and more with them. They were _friendly_ , open in a manner no one in the Pegasus galaxy could ever match.

While part of her thrilled to know such things—such freedoms—were possible, the rest of her despaired of ever convincing them that such attitudes did more harm than good. Her people, like all peoples of the Pegasus galaxy, were like the pygmy marmosets Dr. Lancre had told her about: little creatures with bright black eyes and green-brown fur in intricate patterns that helped them hide, quiet and still, blending into the foliage around them. _That_ was how the Pegasus galaxy survived, maintaining itself with careful, complicated webs of alliances based on trade and need, on subtle forays that were more about defense than Sheppard’s beloved offense.

For months, Teyla had been almost in awe of these strange people. Their fearlessness was something to envy or be bemused by. Often she found herself shaking her head like a mother fondly exasperated by an eager child—for in many, many ways, these people _were_ children: there was always a touch of innocence, of surprise that circumstances did not go their way. It made Teyla feel old, something she shared with Ronon despite how very young he, himself, was—much younger than Colonel Sheppard believed, a fiction Teyla helped maintain.

In the Pegasus galaxy, children did not remain so for long.

First impressions last longest and despite a year and more in their company, Teyla still viewed the people of Atlantis as strong, valiant—but foolishly so. They threw themselves forward when she would suggest a more sideways course. They dodged when she would hold her ground or show empty palms as an act of faith. They spoke when they should shoot, and they shot far, far too often. It was not a _bad_ policy, although it left them far more cut-off then they should have been with such wonders to offer in trade. They survived, even prospered, with enough minor alliances and weaker friends that a stubborn toe-hold appeared under their unceasing diligence—another trait Teyla admired but did not completely understand. It was nearly _impossible_ to tell any of the Earth humans not to do something. They would nod and thank you for the input, politely dismissive, and then get themselves bruised and bloody—and often dead—just to prove what they had been warned against.

Just like children.

Except... not.

It was only after Ronon’s arrival that she began to see the differences, and that annoyed her greatly. Teyla’s strength as a leader drew heavily on her ability to read people, to understand them quickly, and it was only with Ronon’s constant presence—constant questions—that she finally began to realize.

The fighting Ronon had understood from the start. He was not a leader, but a gifted soldier whose skills had been immediately recognized and welcomed by Colonel Sheppard. Ronon, certainly, knew how highly valued he was by the Atlantis team. That was why he had ceded Colonel Sheppard such absolute authority over him. While the strategies often differed wildly from what he knew—something he and Teyla frequently discussed, Ronon following her lead in when and how to offer critique—the goals were something he could understand. 

Seven years as a runner, though, had taught him to look at people in a certain way, one that was useless here in Atlantis. The Earth humans defied any description or generality Ronon knew and since he _was_ a youth, just over twenty summers, he turned to her as the recognizable elder for answers.

She tried, of course. She knew why Ronon asked, his need not necessarily for integration but at least compatibility, something that was impossible without understanding. In attempting to give her halting, uncertain answers, though, she discovered that despite her own belief in full integration, it wasn’t true. 

In fact, it was anything _but_ the truth.

She was the visiting dignitary, a trusted friend and compatriot, a valued ally—but not, as she had assumed, a part of the culture. At first, such a thought came with pain, that distancing herself from her own people still did not merit acceptance. But Teyla _was_ a good judge of people and watching with this new realization tempering her sight, the pain faded.

It was not that she was unwelcome in their culture; she was and was a part of it as much as she could be. The caveat, however, was _could be_. There was no intentional shunning or dislike directed at her, in fact, quite the opposite. She was well liked and well respected, half-heard conversations and late-night chats cementing her as someone very highly thought of in the community. 

But where in public matters she saw the Earth humans as brash and loud and stubbornly willful, in private they were markedly different—so much so that she not truly been aware of it.

 _There_ was the subtlety she had thought them incapable of, the complicated communications that were more about what was not said than any spoken words. Currents with hidden depths revealed themselves to her careful observations, cut-off words providing insights she had not guessed at. Relationships that among her people would be freely open and no cause at all for comment were hidden, protected, wrapped in subterfuge and knowledge tacitly ignored by those at large. The culture of Atlantis was as finely wrought as any of the delicate alliances Teyla and her father had won, and just as jealously guarded.

They were not children at all, she found herself realizing. Just very, very different.

* * *

“This does not always apply, of course,” she explained to Ronon when he pointed out the very loud, very public break up between two of the botanists that had occurred in yesterday’s mess. “Just as we, ourselves, are not always hidden. Your people did not train for battle against solely the Wraith, after all.”

“Huh.” Forearms resting on the curved balcony, Ronon looked over the edge. The two figures were not embracing as they had been moments before, mouths locked, fingers wandering. Now they were relaxed, arms linked casually as they enjoyed the same evening breeze that ruffled at her and Ronon’s hair. “That doesn’t make sense. Why hide who you love?”

Teyla had theories. In a world that had no fear of the Wraith or, in fact, anything other than yet more humans, it was those same humans who became the enemy. She had been told of the many wars the different Earth peoples fought, and of complicated mores and religious structures that seemed to foster fear and self-hate among their practitioners. But Ronon was a solider who trusted his leader to do the thinking, the rationalizing; he would not understand the self-doubt that Teyla did, or how disturbing it could be. Shaking off that thought, she said, “Because they have not been taught how precious it is.”

That satisfied him. Nodding, Ronon gestured to where the two figures once again pressed foreheads and lips together, bodies giving as much as they both took. “They’re learning.”

The rumors would begin soon, Telya knew. Many of the whispers would be appreciative, or respectful—but some would not. She understood why Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay hid their growing awareness, and had done so long before Doctor Weir took her aside to describe the convoluted practice of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.

“They are,” she said, “but the others—”

Ronon’s smile was bleak and hard. “They think they’re safe on their Earth, still. They don’t understand how to live with the Wraith.” His eyes caught hers, amber in the sunset and surprisingly soft. “We’ll teach them.”

In the distance, one of the few birds to settle off the mainland, nesting in high, empty towers, let loose a plaintive cry. “Yes,” she said. “We will teach them. And they will teach us, as well.”

Faint laughter drifted up, carefree enough that both she and Ronon had to smile, sharing in pleasure they did not need to understand. Ronon tweaked her hair, a growing habit of his: “Who said they haven’t already?”


End file.
